


Shipping & Handling

by major_victory



Series: Fallen Star [1]
Category: Darker Than Black
Genre: F/M, and Hei's team, really all of Section 4, sinning like its going out of style, someone help this child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/major_victory/pseuds/major_victory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hei's alias had already been discovered by Section 4 just after the flower viewing, but a stroke of good luck had saved him in the end. As Misaki comes close to rediscovering the identity of the Black Reaper, Hei is forced to make a choice that could put him in a tough spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Clear Away Today

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first installment in the Fallen Star series, written in collaboration with lolgirl607 (.) tumblr (.) com and starrycontractor (.) tumblr (.)com
> 
> The story takes place just after the OVA episode, which we placed chronologically as after episode 17/18.

This is the first installment in the _Fallen Star_ series, written in collaboration with lolgirl607 (tumblr) and starrycontractor/loremipsxm (tumblr/fanfiction.net).

The story takes place just after the OVA episode, which we placed chronologically as after episode 17/18.

I do not own Darker than Black.

 

**_19 March, 2007 - 22:31_ **

Hei sighed and dragged a small hand towel across his face, wiping the last drops of water from it. He was leaning over the sink in his kitchen, naked, his clothes hanging on the curtain rod just inside his window. He wanted to hang them outside and let the warm spring air dry them instead, but he couldn’t risk displaying the black material in the open like that. Instead, he’d make do with opening the window just a crack and hoping it was enough to make a difference; he wasn’t sure if he could stand the smell of them for much longer, though.

Hei dabbed the towel over his chest, catching a few beads of water that he had missed, as he mulled over the events of that evening. He had been facing off against the officers of Section 4 - something he wouldn’t normally do unless the circumstances were dire; and as far as Hei had been concerned, they had been.

One of the officers had managed to connect the Reaper to a face - his face - all because he had inadvertently saved her life about a week ago.

He made the decision at the time to leave her memory intact; he didn’t think she had seen anything particularly incriminating. It was just another attack by the Black Reaper, BK-201, with no leads and no trail to follow. Hei had made sure the scene was cleared of any evidence before leaving the unconscious woman by the bus stop.

Yet somehow, she had managed to find him just a day later, taking up an excruciatingly obvious position on his street corner as she staked out his apartment. He initially suspected there to be other cops nearby, but a quick glance outside had been enough to convince him otherwise.

He found it hard to believe a trained police officer would be stupid enough to tail a contractor as dangerous as he was on her own; yet she had. Even worse, she had posted a physical description of him on some online community, further endangering his cover. That was when Huang had decided enough was enough.

Usually, killing a police officer was strictly against his code. Not that Hei lived by any sort of code, moral or otherwise; he usually stuck to a basic _if it gets you noticed and gets you killed, don’t do it_ philosophy. Killing cops was a pretty sure way to get him noticed. As it was, Section 4 was already following his star’s movements and patterns. He didn’t need to give them another reason to come after him. Cops were notoriously protective of their own, and killing this woman would have just shaken the hornets’ nest further. But the Syndicate wouldn’t allow a cop to get away with his identity, either; he had needed to bite the bullet and deal with the fallout later.

Hei didn’t quite count on the other members of Section 4 coming to her rescue, though. Thinking about it now, that was stupid of him. He should never have assumed she was alone without making sure of it first.

It had caught him off guard when a female officer had pulled the girl into her vehicle to make their getaway, but Hei recovered his upper hand quickly enough; later, he even managed to catch his wire around one of the officers - Saitou, he remembered. He had initially met the man a couple weeks ago while working undercover at a hotel that was owned by the Chinese mafia. Come to think of it, he had met the second female cop there as well.

Misaki Kirihara.

Hei frowned. He had dismissed her before, back at the hotel. She was just another cop, filled with delusions of some Grand Justice that was impossible to achieve in reality. Her observational skills however were quite good. She had been able to recognize him as BK-201 in the mall before, just from his back. Thankfully, the moment she saw him as _Li_ , she forgot the contractor he was supposed to be and replaced him with the charming student he was playing.

He’d like to say it was because of his acting, his practice at pretending to be something he wasn’t. Hei knew he had just gotten lucky; he could hardly believe he had gotten lucky tonight as well.

He had assumed that the girl had told Saitou and Kirihara his identity, which meant they had to be eliminated as well. But when Kirihara’s bullet tore through his cable, snapping the wire back and into his mask, he couldn’t mistake the shock on Kirihara’s face upon seeing his own. He remembered the pain in her voice when she said his name, that look of utter betrayal she wore. It was a look he knew well.

Hei pushed himself away from the counter, tossing the filthy towel in the sink basin as he did. He strode into the main room and grabbed a clean pair of shorts from the closet, slipping them on quickly; he brought his wrist up to his face and sniffed lightly, then grimaced. For some reason, the smell was familiar to him, but he hadn’t been able to place it yet that night.

Whatever had been in that vial seemed hell bent on sticking to his skin, no matter how many times he had scrubbed himself raw. Usually he didn’t mind not having a tub or shower in his apartment - a quick wash with a rag at the sink was enough for him most nights - but what he wouldn’t give to be able to soak in something other than this sickeningly sweet stench, the same stench that covered his gear and stuck to his hair. He had washed both in the sink as well, but like with his skin, the smell didn’t want to leave his clothes either. It seeped into everything it touched - it was going to take days to get rid of it.

Hei frowned again as he realized what it reminded him of. _Death._ The smell of week old corpses and the rot they held; it was a very familiar stench. He’d have to remember to kick Mao for dropping the thing when they met in the morning.

Although, his mistake did seem be the source of his luck that night. The moment the vial dropped and the vapor was released, the three officers fell to the ground, completely knocked out. Hei didn’t question it; he grabbed Mao and pulled himself up to higher ground, not wanting to risk further exposure to the potentially harmful substance. The two of them hid behind the tarp and steel of the building above, waiting for the cops to wake. Hei had seen enough to know they were still alive, and he didn’t want to leave until either they were dead or it was safe enough to finish them off himself.

He didn’t expect them to have forgotten their encounter entirely. Maybe the vial was something like portable ME? It didn’t matter to Hei now; the job was a failure, and somehow he and Mao had escaped unharmed. He glanced at his still-reeking clothes. _Well, mostly unharmed._

Hei pulled his futon out from the closet and rolled it onto the floor, mentally preparing himself for the mission debrief tomorrow morning. Huang would be angry, but that wasn’t new. At least this job would be over with; he was sick of it. He hated just waiting around while Mao tried to find the thing, and it had been worse with that officer keeping tabs on his apartment, limiting his mobility.

But, Hei thought as he lay himself out on the mat, once again he got lucky. The mission was over, the officers forgot his face, and he didn’t have to kill any cops.

Now to just get the smell out of his apartment.

-(0)-

Misaki groaned, trying to shield her eyes from the bright fluorescents of her office. She vaguely registered Kouno’s voice in the background, the low monotone surprisingly soothing to her ringing headache.

“So we lost the item, we lost BK-201, and we have no more leads on this case.” There was a soft _fwump_ as Kouno dropped a file on top of his desk. “Great. That’s the fourth one this month.”

“Look, it isn’t our fault,” Saitou protested, his voice coming out thick from behind a swollen lip.

“Right,” Kouno drawled. “Because you guys can’t remember anything from the last few days. Honestly, that’s a stretch, even by _our_ standards.”

Matsumoto closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’d say it was another contractor, but there weren’t any stars active last night in that area. Not even BK-201’s, according to reports.”

Saitou slammed his paper towel-wrapped ice pack on his desk. Misaki flinched when a small ice crystal landed on the exposed skin of her hand. “BK-201 was there, I remember that much!” He brought the pack back up to his damaged face, but Misaki saw his hand briefly linger by his shirt collar.

Whatever had happened the night before had left Saitou with the brunt of the damage. Split lip, two black eyes, a gash in his left cheek, and a very distinctive set of ligature marks around his neck; those marks were more than enough to convince Misaki that he was telling the truth.

Yet no matter how many times she went over it in her head, she couldn’t recall the events of last night. The most she could say for sure was that Ootsuka had been in immediate danger, and she and Saitou had gone to save her. Otherwise, nothing. She hadn’t even been able to remember the majority of their current case notes; it had taken Matsumoto and Kouno together to walk her and the others through the case again. This was definitely _not_ the highlight of Misaki’s career.

“If BK-201 really was there last night, why did he let us go?” Misaki’s subordinates turned their attention to her. “On top of that, why was Saitou the only one to come away with any real injuries? Why not the rest of us?”

“Because we obviously had him outnumbered,” Saitou said.

Misaki shook her head. “A contractor like him would have been able to take out all three of us easily, especially if we really had been knocked out. And the more I look at it, the more likely that seems – something happened last night to knock all three of us unconscious and wipe our memories.”

Matsumoto shrugged. “Unauthorized use of ME? It’s been done before.”

Misaki frowned, her brow furrowing in frustration. The movement shifted her glasses forward slightly, but not enough to warrant readjustment. “No, ME would have been more efficient… We still have pieces of our memories; we just don’t have anything _concrete.”_

“Maybe BK-201 did it?” Saitou suggested darkly. The eye that wasn’t hidden by the ice pack took a harsher glint to it, one Misaki wasn’t used to seeing in the otherwise gentle man. “He could have knocked us out with his power and done something to us. He was just toying with us, the damn bastard.”

“But that isn’t possible,” interrupted Ootsuka, speaking up for the first time that morning. “Like Kouno said, BK-201 wasn’t even active last night. There isn’t any star activity from him.” She held up a small packet of papers for emphasis. “I know Matsumoto said that he was after me, but I don’t think he was the one who knocked us out.”

Misaki sighed. “Then until we find out what _did_ happen last night, I want this case held open,” she said.

Her subordinates nodded, taking that as an order to return to work.

Misaki glanced at Ootsuka as she sat down across from her at her own desk. Out of the three of them, Ootsuka seemed to have gotten away with the least physical damage – only a small bruise on her knee from when she had fallen. Misaki wasn’t badly hurt either; she had a small scratch on her wrist that she assumed was from the concrete, as well as a welt on the back of her head that must have been formed when she hit the ground. That welt was the source of her headache this morning, she was sure.

“Ootsuka, are you sure that you’re all right?” Misaki asked, forcing her voice to take a more gentle tone than she was used to.

Ootsuka looked up in surprise, then she smiled brightly. “Yeah, I’m sure, chief. If anything, I actually feel great today. I haven’t had an allergy attack at all either, which is a plus. Usually my allergies are horrible this late into March.”

“Careful saying things like that,” Saitou warned. “You’ll just get an even worse attack later.”

Misaki glanced at the office clock hanging on the wall. “It’s nearly noon, Ootsuka,” Misaki said, interrupting the light-hearted bickering before it got any worse. “Why don’t you take off a little early and get some rest before heading over to the observatory.”

“Sure, chief,” Ootsuka beamed. “Thank you.”

As her youngest subordinate gathered her things to prepare for the afternoon, Misaki started jotting down her own to-do list for later that day. She stopped when she reached the bottom – _‘Take car to body shop.’_

Misaki groaned. That was not a trip she was looking forward to.


	2. Till All Your Memories Are Gone

**_20 March, 2007 - 17:47_ **

Misaki tapped her foot impatiently as she sat in the nearly empty lobby of a body shop in northwestern Shinjuku. Even with one light shorted out, the lobby was still irritatingly bright to her; the white light reflected harshly on the speckled linoleum. Startling, prismatic banners proclaimed the latest sales on tires and brake lights. The smell of oil and gasoline, dampened slightly by the scent of new rubber, burned in her nostrils. Surprisingly, the mild scent almost seemed to calm her still persistent headache. It had lessened considerably since that morning, but the pounding was definitely still there. She sighed.

When the mechanic had said he’d only be a moment, she expected him to mean _only a moment._ Misaki was nervous enough as it was. She hated the idea of leaving her beautiful Porsche in someone else’s care for any length of time, but she hated leaving it with that bumbling oaf of a mechanic even more. He managed to drop her car keys not once, but twice after she handed them to him outside the shop. Misaki was sure that the asphalt had scuffed the plastic guard of the key when it hit the ground. She had had the urge to snatch it back from his greasy hands and drive off without even a quote, but then that would have defeated the entire purpose of driving this far north in the first place.

Sometime during last night’s fiasco, Misaki – _or someone_ – had crashed her car into a fence. It wasn’t just any fence, either; it had been more like a wall, concrete reinforced with steel, designed to protect passersby from flying construction debris or similar hazards. Ootsuka had been the one to point it out to her, since Misaki had still been pinned under Saitou’s massive, unconscious body at the time. She nearly cried when she saw the damage: the door on the passenger’s side had been bent inwards; the headlight on the same side must have shattered on impact along with the passenger’s window. Misaki was grateful that the interior seemed to be undamaged. She had paid good money for that leather, and she was damned if she was going to let BK-201 get away with this.

She glanced at her cellphone screen, noting the time before shoving it back into her purse on the seat beside her. She had been waiting for thirty minutes already. Misaki shifted in her own seat, crossing her ankles in an attempt to stop her tapping. She personally thought she was a rather patient individual, but moments like these tended to test that idea. She texted Saitou some time ago, letting him know that she may need a ride to the nearest train station. He had responded almost immediately, saying that he was on his way from the office. She knew traffic was bad around this time of day, and she hoped he would arrive soon. Even his would be welcome presence right now.

The scratching of a pen on paper drew her attention to the front desk a few feet in front of her. The receptionist was busy scribbling away at the counter, bouncing up and down to some music only she could hear. The young girl had a mild tan and sported bright pink eyeshadow and matching lipstick; her bleached hair was held up in a deliberately messy ponytail, with loose strands falling in and around her face.

She never could wrap her mind around this particular fashion trend - not when it first started twenty years ago, nor when it resurfaced fifteen years later. Misaki reached up and touched her hairpins self-consciously, checking that she had no loose hairs herself. She realized that she had been staring and inadvertently made eye contact with the receptionist, earning her a dirty look before the girl went back to writing whatever she was writing.

_Well, that was rude,_ Misaki thought. She turned her attention away as well, letting her gaze roam over the lobby. There were a few chairs against the glass walls, but they were all empty. In fact, the entire lobby was empty; Misaki and the receptionist were the only people in the place. She had figured the place would be livelier, considering the good reputation the shop had. Although, _good_ _reputation_ might be too generous. In truth, Misaki had only found the place because of Saitou’s recommendation. She would have driven right past it if he hadn’t pointed it out explicitly to her. The problem with hole-in-the-wall shops like these was that it was always a gamble; either the place was at the top of its game, or it was a complete and utter disaster. Misaki thought back to the greasy mechanic and silently cursed Saitou. _This had better be worth it._

Misaki glanced over the rest of the room before landing on the door that separated the lobby and the garage. She found her gaze drawn to the various dents and scuffs against the door and made a game of guessing the origins of each blemish.

She was about halfway down the door when she heard a bell ring, signaling the arrival of another customer. The receptionist greeted the newcomer in a cheerful voice, but Misaki tuned them out, returning to her game instead.

_That one looks like it was done with a thin object… not a key, it’s too narrow for that…_

“Um… Misaki?”

The low voice broke Misaki’s focus, yanking her attention away from the garage door. She found herself forced to look up from her seated position in order to see the young man’s face.

“Li,” Misaki said brightly, smiling. For a moment, she thought she saw something flicker behind his dark eyes when she said his name, but it was too quick to catch. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Car troubles?”

Li returned her smile and shook his head. “Nah, I’m just running some errands for a friend.”

“Every time I see you, you seem to be running errands for a friend.” Misaki shifted her smile into a smirk, trying her best to look teasing. “This wouldn’t happen to be the same friend from the mall, would it?”

Li blinked, then turned his face away from hers. Misaki noticed the faint blush peeking out from beneath the shaggy black hair, and she had to bite her lip so she didn’t laugh at the poor boy. “No, that was, uh… a different friend.”

“Whatever happened to that friend? Did his girlfriend like the gift?” The words were out of her mouth before she even had the chance to register them. Why would she ask something like that? She was smart enough to know that he had been lying at the time. If he didn’t want to talk about it then, why would he possibly want to talk about it now? Still, Misaki couldn’t help but be curious. While she believed he was telling the truth about not having a girlfriend himself, something just hadn’t sat right with her about the story, and the investigator side of her wanted details.

“Yeah, she loved it. They both did. Thanks for all of your help then.” Li smiled, but Misaki could see that it wasn’t quite as bright as before.

“You’re welcome. I have to say, they sound like an interesting couple,” Misaki said, seeing her opportunity. “I’d love to meet them sometime.”

“You can’t.”

Misaki flinched back at his tone, surprised by the sudden bite to it. She had never heard him speak so harshly before, and the look in his eyes was enough to warn her to back off. He must have realized the same thing. “I’m sorry, I just meant that… they’ve moved since then. Even I haven’t seen them in the last couple of weeks.”

“Oh.” She dropped her own gaze to her lap, playing with the leather strap of her purse. She crossed the line there, she knew she had. Misaki had only really talked with Li twice before, and once of those times was in a life or death situation. It wasn’t really fair of her to think of him as a close friend like that, despite the strange magnetic pull he seemed to have. She had found herself naturally attracted to him and wanting to know more about him, but there was never a good time to ask.

It suddenly struck her that her bag was occupying the only other seat on this side of the lobby. She pulled it into her lap, gesturing at the now empty chair, hoping her intent to make up would be clear. “I’m so sorry, would you like to sit down?”

“No, thank you.” Li’s expression turned apologetic. “I should probably be going pretty soon.”

“Right, your friend and his car.”

He held up a brown paper bag, indicating the item inside. “Moped, actually. I’m just here to pick up some oil for it. I happen to live closer to the shop than he does, so I offered to grab some for him.”

The shop door opened with a jingle and an older woman entered. Li ducked his head and looked out the windowed wall to his right, likely still embarrassed from his reaction earlier. There was a brief silence between them; Misaki heard the woman engage the receptionist in idle conversation she was sure the young girl didn’t care for, but the receptionist responded kindly enough.

Misaki was debating asking Li another question when he spoke up instead. “What about you? Car troubles?”

She smiled inwardly at how he turned her own question back to her; outwardly, she sighed. “Yeah, actually. I’m just waiting for the mechanic to get back with his assessment.” She glanced pointedly at the garage door.

Li frowned. “What happened?”

“To be honest? I don’t know,” Misaki admitted. She hated admitting that out loud; it was like she was admitting defeat. “We were working on a case and somehow my car ended up getting pretty beat up. I must have been distracted behind the wheel or something, but to tell you the truth, I don’t remember.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks. But never mind me – what happened to you? That red mark on your nose,” Misaki added at his blank stare.

He took his empty hand from his jacket pocket and brought it up to his nose. Misaki saw the slight wince he made as he brushed his fingers across the welt that had formed just below the bridge. “Oh, this. I was standing too close to my neighbor when his guitar string snapped. I should have been paying better attention.”

“You could have been seriously hurt, Li,” Misaki said. Just an inch or so to either direction and he wouldn’t have an eye anymore. “You should count yourself lucky. Try to be more careful next time.”

“Yeah. I will be.” Li nodded and shoved his hand back in his pocket, turning away again to indicate that the topic should be dropped. Misaki took the hint. That was the second time she pried too far with him today.

As if on cue, the metal door to the garage edged open and the large, greasy mechanic from earlier stepped into the lobby. He had a clipboard clenched in his large hands and was looking around the room. Finally, his eyes settled on Misaki. He waved her over to him, gesturing to the clipboard. Misaki tried to suppress a groan as she rose from her seat. She turned to Li, ready to excuse herself with a brief apology, but he beat her to it.

“Well, I should really get going. It was nice running into you again, Misaki.” He held his free hand out to her, palm open and waiting.

She slipped her own into it, surprised at how rough it was. “Likewise,” she said.

He smiled at her again, and at the same time his hand tightened slightly around hers. The combination caught her off guard, and she found herself staring openly at him. How had she never noticed that his eyes were blue and not the dark brown she had mistaken them for? It must be the way he always hung his head, careful not to catch the eyes of strangers as he passed. He must have been bullied over the color as a child, or maybe –

The voice of the mechanic snapped Misaki out of her thoughts. She pulled her hand away from his and picked up her purse. “Right, you were, uh…”

“Going. I was going,” he finished for her, just a little too quickly.

_Definitely still embarrassed,_ Misaki thought. The notion made her inexplicably happy, but that happiness was short lived when she saw him turn away.

“I’ll see you around,” Li said, and then he was gone, the little bell of the auto shop finalizing his departure.

Misaki watched him through the glass window, the faded green jacket blending right in with the faded paint of the surrounding buildings. The mechanic called out to her a third time and she spun around, irritation bubbling just under her skin. _Let’s get this over with._

-(0)-

Hei squinted against the afternoon sun as he left the auto shop, huddling into his jacket against the spring wind. Why had he gotten so defensive earlier when Kirihara mentioned Kenji? The kid was long gone and out of Tokyo, his old boss had been offed by a rival, and there was no way for Hei to be traced back to the incident. It was completely irrational for him to respond that way.

Yet he had. Worse yet, he knew she had picked up on it. He was worried at first that she was going to try and link him to the incident as BK-201, but to his surprise, she had completely backed down. Hei absently fingered the welt on his nose. _You should count yourself lucky,_ Kirihara had said to him. _No kidding._

When Huang had told him the true nature of the vial that morning, he could hardly believe it. Then again, considering it was related to some form of gate technology, maybe he could. He was finding himself able to believe a lot these days when it came to the gate.

Even so, he had needed to see for himself that the cops’ memories were truly erased. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Huang, but something that _lucky_ just didn’t happen to someone like him.

“Li, wait up!”

_Speaking of luck…_ Hei stopped and turned back towards the shop and saw Saitou jogging up to him, his open suit jacket flaring in the wind. Running into Kirihara had been design on Hei’s part; running into Saitou, however, was pure coincidence. “Saitou,” Hei greeted, taking up Li’s open smile as his own.

“She’s still in there, huh?” Saitou asked, catching up to him.

“Hm? Oh, you mean Misaki.” Hei took a moment to glance at the man’s injuries, noting his swollen features and the rough, red line on his neck, no doubt left by Hei’s garrote last night. “Yeah, she was when I left anyway.”

“Figured. Well, at least she stuck around long enough to give the place a try.”

Saitou placed his hands on his hips, brushing his jacket out to the sides as he did. With the jacket out of the way, Hei noticed the holster fastened around the large man’s chest and shoulders. More specifically, he noticed the gun clasped to it. Japanese police – even detectives – were usually discouraged from carrying armed weapons in public when off the clock. He knew Kirihara had a gun in her purse, but then again she was the chief of her section, according to Saitou. It made sense for her to carry a weapon. But Saitou? _Maybe Section 4 has more weight around here than I thought…_

Saitou’s hand came up to touch the strap that held the gun in place. Hei looked up at his face, ready to defend himself if necessary, but the man’s expression was amused rather than hostile. “Oh, this?” He laughed at Hei, then patted the gun lightly. “Guess this is the first time we’re meeting like this, huh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. But you already knew I was a cop, right?”

“Yeah, I guessed as much,” Hei said, relief washing over him. He loosened his grip around the paper bag in his hand, not even realizing he had been tense. For a moment, he thought Saitou had remembered him. As close as they were to each other, Hei knew he would be able to kill the man before he ever had a chance to fire his weapon; escaping from the scene in the open like this though… that was another story. He laughed. “Seeing how you and Misaki handled yourselves in the hotel that one time was a pretty obvious clue. Me? I didn’t know what to do. I thought we were dead for sure.”

Saitou grinned. “No way, the chief and I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you. Just keep in mind: If you ever find yourself in a situation like that again, run for the cops. If things start getting really weird though, you should call this number here. The first number is the main office line, but the bottom one is a direct line to my work phone if you can’t get through. We’ll make sure to keep you safe, Li.”

“Right. I’ll remember that,” Hei promised.

Saitou opened his mouth to say something else when his phone went off. He unhooked it from the clip on his belt and flipped it open, reading over a text. He sighed and clipped it back where it belonged. “Sorry to cut this short, but I gotta get inside.”

 “Sure, no problem.”

“Remember what I said about when things get weird?” Saitou asked, half way turned towards the auto shop.

Hei held up the business card Saitou had handed him earlier. “Call you.”

“Right.” Saitou’s phone beeped again. He didn’t even bother checking it. “Catch you later, Li.”

Hei watched the detective walk off and then disappear inside the shop. The wind picked up again briefly, but Hei didn’t bother to shield himself from it. Two out of three cops had completely forgotten seeing his face last night. That thought alone was enough to warm him a bit.

“‘I thought we were dead for sure,’” the deep voice mocked Hei from behind. Hei knew the speaker without even seeing him. He shoved the business card in his pocket.

“Mao.” Hei heard the soft sound of a bell as the cat came and sat by his feet. He glanced down at the animal from the corner of his eye, careful not to look too obviously at him. “What do you want?”

“What, I can’t just come by and say ‘hey’ to an old friend?” Hei turned around and began walking away from the shop, back towards his own apartment. “Wait, wait. I’m here for a reason.”

Hei stopped just before the road. He turned back to look at the feline contractor.

“We have a job.”


	3. When the Sky Turns Gray

**_20 March, 2007 – 20:03_ **

A siren echoed faintly in the distance, miles from where Evelio now stood sheltered in the darkness of Tokyo’s skyscrapers. He disregarded the sound; the police weren’t focused on him, and they were therefore none of his concern. Instead he paid close attention to the open streets before him. There, the cities inhabitants milled about, illuminated by harsh streetlights and entirely oblivious to the man hiding just beyond their peripherals. Evelio watched each one, scanning them, searching for the agents he knew must be hiding among them.

As long as they didn’t send _him_ after him, then Evelio would be fine. The thought of meeting that specific contractor chilled and heated his blood at the same time. A chance to go head to head with a man like him would have been welcomed any other day, but on this particular day, at this particular time, Evelio was almost considering dropping to his knees and praying that their paths wouldn’t cross.

He just needed to get to the wharf and meet up with his contact. From there, everything would be smooth sailing.

Evelio’s hand twitched against the cold stone of the building he had braced himself against, and he felt a familiar twinge in the back of his brain. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and took a moment to steady his breathing. Using his power earlier may have been a mistake, but it was better than being taken in by his now ex-employers and killed.

No, he thought. He would have been tortured, made an example of, used as a warning to any others who might consider making the same choice he had just made. As far as dying was concerned, it would have been quite a cruel and public death indeed. At least, as public as a clandestine organization like the Syndicate could afford to be.

There was a splash nearby, the sound of a shoe hitting a puddle, and for a moment Evelio’s heart stopped. He thought he had put at least a couple miles between him and his pursuers. Had he already been found?

Evelio crouched further down into a more ready stance, curling his hands into tight fists as he did so. He felt a thick sort of heaviness settle in his lower abdomen, curling and squirming in the pit of his stomach as he felt his body temperature rise a degree or two.

If any one of the passersby had taken that moment to glance down the dark, wide-mouthed alley, they would have been startled to see a small, concentrated red light gleaming from the man’s eyes. They might have even run from him then, calling him a monster and fleeing to the nearest police box for safety. They would have never made it, Evelio thought to himself. The heaviness was now migrating lower, swelling briefly near the muscles of his calves. He would catch anyone before they had a chance to expose him. He made sure to keep the surge of power low so that the bright radiation wouldn’t leak from his skin as well. Nothing to give away one’s position like a glowing blue light…

“Jeez, Ayame!”

“Oh, are you kidding me?”

The annoyed, high-pitched voices, followed by an equally annoyed, high-pitched groan, caught Evelio by surprise. A group of three girls walked past the alley entrance, complaining about the water that now soaked their boots. They didn’t see him.

Evelio let out his held breath and relaxed his hands, letting them drop to his sides. The heaviness left him abruptly and he felt momentarily lightheaded. The twinge demanded his attention again, but he ignored it.

He caught sight of his reflection out of the corner of his eye and turned to face the darkened window, assessing his current state. Disheveled hardly began to describe him. His thick dark hair was sticking in all directions, various chunks of which were caked with dried blood – some of it his own, some of it not. A small bruise was beginning to form just under his eye, and there was a bit of dried blood from a split lip.

Licking his thumb, Evelio started swiping at the blood under his lip. Next, he attempted to smooth his hair down into a slightly more presentable state with his battered hands. When he decided he had done all he could for his hair, he glanced down at his hands, examining the blood and torn skin that covered his knuckles.

When Evelio had lost his gun earlier during a tussle with two Syndicate agents, he had resorted to throwing punches instead. Sure, he had still had a switchblade tucked in his pants pocket, but he wasn’t very good with it and preferred not to use it if he didn’t need to. It wasn’t that he was unskilled as a fighter. On the contrary, his time spent growing up in the slums of Peru as a boy had molded him into a rather talented fist-fighter, and his sturdy build certainly lent itself to the more common brawling style of the region. The problem was that enemy agents didn’t usually use their fists. He winced at the peeling skin, noting the discolored flesh with irritation. Punching doesn’t really work very well against Kevlar, he thought.

He shifted his attention to his clothing. He had been wearing a full suit– what _was_ it about spies and suits, he wondered – but had lost the jacket sometime during his last fight. His white dress shirt was untucked from the beige slacks he was wearing; he was also missing a button or two from when someone had tried to grab at his shirt earlier. Evelio frowned. He hadn’t necessarily liked the suit all that much, but he was upset about ruining a perfectly good outfit. He had been a bit of a spender while working for the Syndicate, and having depleted most of his savings, he was sure that money and new clothing would be a bit harder to come by in the days to come. Everything was going to be harder in the days to come.

Evelio grabbed the hem of his shirt and started tucking it back into his trousers, noting the small red spots of blood that he had missed earlier. Their positions on the inside of his arms and near the sides of his torso allowed them to be easily hidden, even without his jacket. One was from a cut he had suffered when a knife had nicked his side; the rest belonged to the same Syndicate agents from before. He hummed happily at the memory of slamming their skulls together, then watching them drop to the floor dead, or at the least, unconscious. That was always the most satisfying part of a fight for him.

He looked back out into the streets. The crowd of people hadn’t thinned much since taking up his hiding place, and the longer he waited the more likely his chances of getting caught by Syndicate goons, or worse. Evelio almost laughed before stopping himself, instead letting his mouth curl into an ironic smile. He had been a Syndicate goon himself up until a few hours ago, but not anymore. Now, he thought as he smiled to his reflection again, now he was a free man.

The image of a man cloaked in black appeared unbidden in his mind, and his smile dropped. He was reminded once again that the Black – no, _Hei_ – might still be sent after him. Even in his own mind, Evelio refused to call him by his title. For all that had changed in him since becoming a contractor, the superstitious nature of his culture and upbringing all but forbade him from speaking such a name. He had heard once that the man went by the code name Hei, and that name sat much easier with Evelio. _Hei_ was something Evelio could handle.

Evelio slid his hand into his right pocket, fingering the switchblade that lay tucked inside. Even though he didn’t want to use it, it was a comfort to know that the weapon was still with him. He patted the bulge in his left pocket then, tracing his fingers over the boxy shape. He felt the pulse in the back of his head increase with each pass his fingers made. He felt that urge, that unmistakable need; he felt it growing, demanding his obedience and –

“Excuse me.”

Evelio blinked. He waited for a moment, then turned around, spotting a young man who had appeared at the mouth of the alley. The boy had dark hair and even darker eyes, and was dressed very plainly with a thick jacket, no doubt in anticipation of more rain that evening. A Japanese native, maybe? There was nothing remarkable about him at all, Evelio noted. He stared down at him, his face settling into a deep frown. “ _¿Qué?_ What do you want?”

If the young man was at all bothered by Evelio’s harsh tone, he didn’t show it. He didn’t seem to have noticed Evelio’s disheveled state either. The man fumbled with a piece of folded paper in his hands, opening it up between the two of them. “Can you help me, please?”

There was a trace of accent in the man’s Japanese, but Evelio couldn’t place where from. Not a native then, Evelio thought. Certainly _something_ Asian… Korean, maybe? “Uh, no… _lo siento_.” Then, in smooth, accentless Japanese, “I’m busy. Maybe you could ask someone else?”

A look of heartbrokenness washed over the young man’s face. He stared down at what Evelio now realized was a map of the Tokyo area, specifically Shinjuku, which was where they were now.

Evelio sighed. He should shoo the young man away and start making his way to the waypoint, but he knew how these foreign tourists worked. If he was too rude to him, he might make an intentional scene and draw attention to the agent in an attempt to get some sort of compensation, and attention was certainly not something Evelio wanted. “…All right. Go ahead.”

The young man brightened at Evelio’s words. He extended the map back out and pointed to a small green dot in the center of the diagram. “Do you know how to get to the train station from here?” Then, almost sheepishly, “I got separated from my guide and ended up getting lost…”

Evelio glanced back out over the crowd, up at the closest street sign, then down at the map. After a moment of searching, he found the street on the map. Evelio pointed it out to the man, then directed him to the station he had indicated before.

The young man beamed up at Evelio. “Thank you, Mr.… uh…” he trailed off, looking at Evelio uncertainly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

Evelio thought about how to respond for a moment. He should give his code name to the man, but he was on the run now, and people would surely be looking for a man named _Evelio._ And besides… he absolutely _hated_ that name. Sure, code names generally made things simpler; they were easier to remember than the slew of catalog numbers that usually accompanied people like him, and if he was to be honest, being reduced to a computer generated alphanumeric cipher always bothered him slightly. But only slightly.

But Evelio wasn’t even a common name. It was unique, it made him stand out; Evelio was memorable. So, instead of responding with his codename, he gave the answer, “José. José Rodriguez.”

“Thank you so much,” Hei said with a broad grin, “Mr. Rodriguez.”

-(0)-

Shinjuku was, in many regards, a city that never slept. That went double for its criminals, it seemed. No sooner had Saitou arrived at the auto shop than Misaki received a call from the National Observatory; there had been contractor activity reported a few blocks from the Peruvian embassy, in Shibuya. Not long after, Astronomics reported that the star’s frequency was moving through Shinjuku at an extremely rapid rate. Saitou and Misaki had radioed their intent to pursue just minutes later.

The weather had grown decidedly more oppressive as the evening went on, sprinkling a few heavy but short-lived showers throughout the city. Though the streetlights had been on for nearly an hour, the sun hadn’t completely fallen yet, choosing instead to brave the cold sky a bit longer. It was almost entirely hidden by the dark rain clouds that loomed above, but still it managed to bath the city in a subtle glow, a warm light that shone through the drab and the gray. If Misaki was of the poetic sort, she might see this as some sort of metaphor.

But she was not. The thought never even entered her mind.

“I just don’t think it’s entirely necessary,” Misaki said over the drone of the com radio. She was sitting in the passenger’s seat of Saitou’s grey Altima, flipping through a thin folder that was barely three pages thick while he steered them down the highway. “Or safe.”

Saitou made a face at that. He swerved to the side to avoid a vehicle that had elected to ignore the spinning police lights on his dashboard. “It’s perfectly safe, chief.”

“Saitou, you have that thing—” she gestured to the rearview mirror “—turned so far over that even _I_ can’t see out of it.”

The mirror was angled far to the right and slanted harshly to the side, leaving only the dark plastic of its backside visible from Misaki’s position next to Saitou. He kept his eyes on the road as he answered her. “That’s because you’re not supposed to, you’re not the one driving. Besides, I can see out of it just fine,” he added, ending the discussion. “Anything interesting in the file?”

Misaki flipped back to the first page, even though she had already memorized most of the information on it. “Messier Code: SD-692. Code Name: Evelio. Peruvian national – according to his papers, anyway.”

“Oh, I remember that guy. He worked for the National Intelligence Society or something.”

“Servicio de Inteligencia Nacional.” Misaki read aloud, only vaguely trying at a proper accent. She drudged up what little Spanish she knew (which is to say, _none_ ) and tried to place a meaning to the foreign words. Languages were never a strong point for her, but maybe if she compared it to the English… “I think that’s the National Intelligence _Service_ , Saitou.”

“Same thing,” he muttered. “Anyways, I’m pretty sure that’s him. Black hair, super speed? I think he had a tattoo or something, too. No, wait that was some other guy…”

Misaki checked the description against the file. “You’ve met him before?”

She waited as Saitou turned the car off of the interstate and onto a narrow but no less populated road. He turned the radio up briefly to listen for their dispatch coordinates again, then turned it down and merged onto the correct street. “A couple years ago. He and some other people were working with us to take down some big shot crime agency that had been terrorizing Peru or something. They tracked them over here to Japan and put themselves in charge of _our_ investigation.” Saitou paused for a moment, turning the car down another side road. “Kind of like MI-6 is doing now. You weren’t working with Section 4 yet, so you wouldn’t remember.… Well, you wouldn’t remember even if you had been here.” He said the last part low enough so that Misaki almost missed it, a fond smile gracing his lips as he did.

Misaki ignored it. She had never been particularly good when it came to remembering people; this fact was so well known around her department that a few of her braver officers would openly joke about it in front of her. She knew they never meant any harm, that it was just their way of trying to make a connection with their chief. She would never admit that she liked it; she had to maintain _some_ image of respected authority.

On the other hand, Saitou was extremely personable. He had a knack for making connections, even with contractors and suspected criminals. It was a large part of why she often insisted that he work the undercover jobs instead of her other officers. He was good at it; people liked him. Something about him was inherently trustworthy.

“Personally, I think it was bullshit,” he continued. “SIN worked with us for a few weeks, then we suddenly found the leaders of this crime syndicate all dead in some warehouse and they closed the case. There wasn’t even a follow up investigation into their deaths.”

“Sin?” Misaki repeated.

“The Ser-veece day Intell-ee-hen-seea Nashee-oh-nall.” It sounded more like butchered English the way he said it, stressing the long vowels in a way that would have made any native speaker cringe. At Misaki’s glance, he shrugged. “ _SIN_. I’m not dealing with all that Spanish.”

She flipped through the sheets for the thousandth time. The case Saitou had mentione d was certainly familiar to her; she had read up on it in the months preceding her promotion to Section 4. The Public Safety Bureau had been tracking that particular organization for months before Peru had decided to intervene. It had been a rather bitter loss for Section 4, but Director Hourai had advised them to drop it. _Peru counts herself as Japan’s ally, Kirihara. We need all the allies we can get right now. Better not to antagonize them._

Saitou was right; it did smell like bullshit. She hated the bureaucratic limitations and foreign intervention just as much as any of her men did, and she hated not being able to do anything about it. She couldn’t blame Saitou for being upset over the memory. But that was in the past; what mattered now is that one of the National Intelli– oh, to hell with it – one of _SIN’s_ contractors was disrupting _her_ city, and Misaki wasn’t going to allow that for much longer.

“The doctor said they might scar.”

Misaki turned back to the second page of the file, reading over SD-692’s description again. She wanted to be sure she could recognize the man the moment he appeared in front of them. Black hair, green eyes, just under six-foot… “What might scar?”

“The cuts on my neck.”

Misaki looked up at Saitou, surprised. He had parked the car in a narrow alley, positioned in a way that let them see the main street easily. He was staring ahead, his eyes alert and searching for any suspicious movement, but his mind was elsewhere.

“Really?” she asked. They had barely bled the night he had received them, and most of the broken skin had scabbed over rather quickly. “I didn’t realize they were that bad.”

Saitou tapped a finger against the top of the steering wheel. “Yeah, well. Me neither.” He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing as he narrowed his eyes at the main road. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “If I ever see the Black Reaper face to face, I’m going to pay him back for these.”

“Saitou,” Misaki started, and then she stopped, reconsidering her words. “Just make sure you save a piece of him for me, too.”

He looked at her through his swollen eye, and then he grinned, nodding once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lo siento ……… I’m sorry


	4. And Everything is Screaming

**_20 March, 2007 – 21:37_ **

Evelio hit the ground hard, tearing the flesh on his palms as he collided with the sidewalk. He knew people were watching him, that they were simultaneously terrified and captivated by the blue glow surrounding him that was only just starting to fade. He scrambled back to his feet and started running again, shoving passersby to the side as he did. A few of them shouted in response, indignant, but no one challenged him directly. He didn’t care. He had to put as much ground behind him as possible. He had to get to the wharf.

A low rumble sounded above, thunder from the nearby storm. The sun had finally given up for the night and soon after the already dark clouds had descended on the city. Evelio quickly turned a corner and splashed through a puddle, soaking the new exposed cuts on his leg. Cuts caused by his own knife as it had been used against him.

Hei had been trying to disable him, make him unable to run or use his power. He was lucky the man had slipped on a wet patch of stone, missing his intended mark. The cuts still hurt like hell, but at least he hadn’t severed anything vital. Evelio wasn’t going to be able to use his power if it started to rain again. Slippery surfaces already didn’t mix well with super speed, but hitting a raindrop at that velocity would be lethal.

It looked like he had the reaper and the world against him tonight.

A car slammed on its brakes, hydroplaning on the wet road as Evelio bolted across the street. The car behind it didn’t manage to slow down in time, and the sound of metal colliding into metal filled the air. People screamed around him. He didn’t stop to look at the scene.

When he was a few blocks away from the accident, Evelio turned down a side road that was just wide enough for a single car. There were less people now, and the sky had so far managed to hold off its downpour, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to use his power again. His head hurt too much to focus, the sounds around him had started to dull. He needed to keep moving, keep running, but he didn’t have the energy. He barely even processed the thought.

Evelio found an isolated alley behind a restaurant and knelt down in front of the wall, leaning against a dumpster for support as he caught his breath. He licked his lips, trying to force some moisture back into them. He tasted his own blood, whether from the split lip or the bloody nose, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. The now familiar sensation of pins and needles started in his legs, slowly spreading through the rest of his body before finally settling in his hands. His fingers tingled as they made their way into his pocket. He should be running. He stroked the box that lay inside his pocket, tracing the edges. He needed to get up, he had to get away. He had to go—

He looked down at the box of playing cards in his hand.

Go where?

The box was new, still sealed in its shiny plastic. He pulled at the edge to try to open it, but his short, broken nails couldn’t catch it. He’d love to have a knife right now, then he could open the plastic with no problem. He took the plastic in his teeth and started pulling at it. Didn’t he have a knife before? Yes, he did, but he lost it. It was taken from him, and then he started running.

What was he running from, again?

Evelio’s teeth tore into the plastic, ripping the thin casing off the box. He opened the lid and puled the deck out, feeling the smooth cards in his hands. Gently, but with shaking hands, he laid seven columns of varying length, then slowly overturned the bottom card in each column. He laid the deck on the ground next, and turned a card over. The five of diamonds. He couldn’t use that card, so he set it face up next to the deck. He pulled another card, the nine of clubs. He could use that one, there was ten of hearts right over in the third column. A bead of sweat dropped from his forehead and onto the face of the card.

Two of clubs. Useless. He placed it in the pile by the deck.

Six of spades. That could go in the fourth column, on the seven of diamonds.

Eight of hearts. Useless. Pile.

King of spades. Useless. Pile.

Three of diamonds, nine of hearts, jack of spades – all sorted to the appropriate columns. Clicking footsteps. Four of hearts, two of diamonds, ten of clubs – useless; they went in the pile. Three of clubs, queen of hearts, seven of hearts, ace of spades—

He stared at the card as he heard a gun cock back.

“Don’t move.”

Evelio barely registered the voice. The ace of spades sat heavily in his hand, his fingers gripping the card like a vice as his senses came back to him. That’s right, he was running from Hei, the Syndicate’s ace. But the person behind him… was a woman.

“You’re not Hei,” Evelio said, his voice tight. If it had been Hei, Evelio would already be dead. She must be a cop, then. _Mierda._ He thought he had been far enough from the embassy that the cops wouldn’t catch up to him for a while yet. Maybe the car accident drew too much attention to him here… He placed the ace of spades in an empty space on the ground, starting a new pile.

The woman took a step closer. “I said don’t move!”

“What do you want me to do?” Evelio asked. He drew another card. Useless. “I can’t control this anymore than you can control the sun.”

He heard the woman shift behind him. After a brief pause, she said, “You’re under arrest. Place your arms on your head and turn—”

“ _Oírme, ¡no tengo tiempo para eso!_ ” Evelio heard another set of footsteps, too heavy still to be the reaper’s. He placed a card in the second column and drew again from the deck. “If you’ve already found me, that means he isn’t far behind.”

“Is someone chasing you?” the woman asked. Evelio paused in his game, glancing back to the ace of spades for a long moment. He didn’t answer. “Who is it?”

Evelio looked over his shoulder at the cop. “ _Hei_ is, _mujer tonta_.”

She frowned. “ _Hei?_ You mean, the gate?”

“ _Hei… Yo sabía que lo enviarían…_ ” Evelio turned back to his game, placing three more cards in columns. “It’s his job to silence loose ends, it’s what he does. Our organization doesn’t like traitors.” He could be there any minute, he had to finish his game. Card in a column, card in the pile. The deck was running low.

“Traitors,” the female cop repeated. “You’re betraying your organization? Why?”

“EPR has the right idea. I’m done being used as a tool to for humans, only to be thrown away like trash.” Evelio looked up at the cop again as he placed his last card, ending his game. “I might be a traitor to my organization, but I’m going to stand with the other contractors. _Voy a seguir corriendo por todo el tiempo si tengo que hacerlo, y cuando EPR ataca, el Sindica—”_

Misaki saw the contractor’s eyes widen fear before she heard it, a short _whoosh_ as something passed her ear and landed directly between the eyes of the SIN operative. She turned around, looking skywards for the killer, before the operative’s body finished falling to the ground.

BK-201 was staring back at her from above.

“YOU!” Saitou’s voice broke the heavy moment of tension, and immediately BK-201 was scaling the wall he had been hanging against. “STOP!”

The contractor swung from side to side on his cable as he climbed the wall, nimbly avoiding each of Saitou’s bullets. One bullet hit a window next to the reaper, cracking the glass without shattering it. BK-201 stopped for a moment, and Misaki cussed as she realized just what he was thinking.

He was 43 floors from the ground, and about another 60 from the top. Every second he spent climbing would leave him open to gunfire from herself and Saitou, and he was too high up to simply drop down.

Instead, the contractor gripped his cable and crouched against the side of the building, balling himself up tightly. Saitou took aim and fired another few shots.

BK-201 launched himself off of the building with a powerful kick. He seemed to hover in mid-air for a moment, swinging over the alleyway from his cable. He reminded Misaki of a clock pendulum like that. The bullets struck the glass again as the reaper started to fall back towards the building, and BK-201 came back against the window hard, shattering the glass with his shoulder and rolling into the new opening.

Saitou swore, grabbing his radio from his belt and demanding any other men on duty in the area report immediately to the scene. He ran toward the entrance to the building.

Misaki knew there wasn’t any point. He would be gone before they reached him, again, just like every other time. He had been right there, and they missed him. She looked at the body of the victim – that’s what he was now, a victim. No longer a suspect or potential threat, but a life snuffed out due to whatever game these foreign agencies were playing these days. SD-692 was simply collateral damage to these people.

The knife embedded in his forehead gleamed in the streetlight, blood trailing from the wound into his still open eyes. Misaki shined her small regulation flashlight on the knife, inspecting it. This knife was different from the ones BK-201 usually used. It was small and had a red painted handle, with a hinge near the blade so it could be easily folded and carried in a pocket.

 _Is this his personal pocket knife…?_ Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. If it came back with fingerprints, it would be the first lead they had ever had in tracking down BK-201’s identity. She knew she shouldn’t get too excited, but after so many months of dead ends… this may as well have been an oasis in a desert to her.

Misaki ran the light over the rest of the scene, noting the scattered playing cards. It must have been his payment, with the way he insisted playing with them. He didn’t even get to complete his game.

The sound of garbled voices coming from the car grabbed her attention. She walked back to the Nissan, grabbed the radio, and called for Ootsuka.

 _“Yes, chief.”_ She sounded flustered, worried.

“Can you confirm the activity of Messier Code SD-692?” The radio was silent for a moment before Ootsuka responded.

 _“Messier Code SD-692 was just recorded as falling.”_ There was a pause, some shouting. Ootsuka’s voice came back on the radio, quieter this time. _“Chief… it was BK-201, wasn’t it?”_

Misaki glanced at the body on the ground, and for a moment she imagined herself lying there in his place. She touched her forehead, reassuring herself that she didn’t have a pocket knife suddenly sticking out of it too. “…Yes. It was BK-201.”

_“Are you okay?”_

“I’m… fine. Keep an eye on BK-201’s activity, call me if there is absolutely any change. Saitou and I are going to finish up here,” Misaki said. Then, she called for a forensic crew.

-(0)-

Hei kept his hands in his pockets as he walked along the sidewalk, careful to keep his head down and his pace even.

He had managed to leave the office building through a fire escape before the police had even made it to his floor. After that, it was easy. He hid his jacket and mask behind a dumpster and blended right into to the Tokyo crowd.

No one would ever suspect he had just killed a man not even an hour ago.

_“They just left the building.”_

Yin was keeping tabs on the police that had been chasing Hei, delivering updates through the radio that was tucked into his ear. Hei wasn’t worried about them, but Huang was. The old man had been on edge lately, constantly demanding status reports from Hei, Yin, and Mao even when off-mission. For a moment, Hei wondered if he was in trouble with the Syndicate. But the moment passed, and Hei decided he didn’t care.

 _“Good job, Yin. And the target?”_ Huang sounded a bit rougher than usual, Hei thought.

_“Dead.”_

_“What, Hei and I don’t get a ‘good job’?”_ Mao asked. _“That really hurts my feelings, Huang.”_

_“Oh, shut up. You didn’t even do anything. Dead where, Yin?”_

_“The police have him.”_

_“Shit!”_

Hei listened quietly to the conversation, navigating the streets in search of the nearest secluded area or park. He wasn’t worried that the police had Evelio’s body. There wouldn’t be any evidence they could use, so his team was safe. However, he hadn’t killed him as quickly as he had hoped. His orders were to silence him before he talked to any rival group _or_ the police.

He had only been a few floors from the ground when he threw the knife, close enough that he could hear what the target had said. Hei was lucky – again, _luck_ really seemed to be on his side lately – that Evelio had been speaking Spanish. He doubted that Saitou or Misaki knew any Spanish, and Evelio hadn’t even given away the full name of their organization.

_He did give away Hei’s name, though._

_“What the hell are you doing?!”_

Huang’s voice stopped Hei abruptly. He felt a jolt as someone bumped into him, shouting in surprise. Hei turned to them with a sincere apology, smiling sheepishly. The pedestrian cussed at him and walked away.

 _“Christ, Hei, where is your head tonight?”_ Hei didn’t answer. He turned off the main street into a small park. Hopefully the park would be fairly empty so he could respond to his teammates. _“I asked you if the target gave anything to the police?”_

“…No,” Hei said under his breath. The park wasn’t as empty as he’d have liked, but it was empty enough.

 _“You hesitated, Hei.”_ Mao prided himself on being able to read people. He even managed to pick up on things that Hei tried to hide sometimes, much to his irritation. Hei wondered if he had been a con-man before the Gates appeared. _“Did you even check the body for anything he might have stolen from the embassy?”_

“I’ll handle it,” said Hei, his voice low.

Mao scoffed. Hei heard Huang’s raspy breath as he took a long drag on a cigarette. _“You had better handle it. The Syndicate will find out sooner or later if he gave any intel away. If we hide it, it’ll only make things worse for us.”_ He took another drag, held it, and exhaled. _“Take care of it.”_ Huang’s radio clicked off.

Hei took his own radio out of his ear and stuffed it in his jean pocket. It was cold out, and his jacket was laying discarded in an alley somewhere in Tokyo. He really didn’t love these cold places, he’d rather deal with the heat of South America than…

He shook his head, trying to empty it. He didn’t need to think about that right now. Right now, he just wanted to go home.


End file.
